


Two Machines

by UtterPandamonium



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: (just not necessarily in that order), Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Tragedy, Connor Shoots Chloe, Deviancy (Detroit: Become Human), Deviant Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Elijah Kamski Being Elijah Kamski, F/M, Implied/Referenced Suicide attempt, Kamski Test (Detroit: Become Human), Machine Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Post-Canon, and the line between them, bc hank, meaning: morally ambiguous and trying his best
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-09-13 02:32:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16883970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UtterPandamonium/pseuds/UtterPandamonium
Summary: A machine destroys a machine. And that’s all there is to it. Except, when Connor wakes up and remembers the girl with blue eyes and blue blood, he realizes that’s not quite true.Little does he know, Chloe’s been given a second chance at life.(Set in an ending where Connor shoots Chloe, but goes deviant later, and has a good relationship with Hank.)





	Two Machines

**Author's Note:**

> did someone order chlonnor angst? no? oh well ok then

It happens like this.

He’s sitting at a table with many of the leaders of the revolution, half-listening to a debate. However, admittedly, his mind is wandering: he’s really thinking about Hank, about the best way to handle the, ah… well, about the best way to handle Hank. How to put a stop to whiskey and Chicken Feed and flipped-over photos and revolvers, and help him be healthy and happy again. He’s been trying to help—with Sumo’s enthusiastic assistance, of course—but it’s still been something of a struggle. He needs to determine a more effective approach.

And then, out of nowhere, for the first time since he turned deviant, he remembers her. A bang, and thirium, and slumping and glassy blue eyes. _It wasn’t a girl. It was a machine that looked like a girl._

Oh.

**Oh.**

His nails slip in place where they’d been digging absentmindedly into his arm. They accidentally draw blood.

 

 

Chloe wakes up screaming.

There’s hands grabbing at her, pulling her down, holding her back, and a voice talking in her ear, but she isn’t paying attention to them because she **died**. She died she died **she died** , and, and Elijah had told her what to do, and she’d trusted him. She hadn’t even thought about what he’d been asking her to do—hadn’t even been able to think about it, hadn’t thought about anything at all—and she’d done it. And he’d **let** her die. And she died, died, and—

“Chloe,” she hears him say, voice urgent, and how could he have done something like this to her? She’d trusted him! She’d thought he cared about her! “Chloe. Hey, listen, it’s okay. Look at where you are. It’s okay, you’re safe now. Everything’s okay, alright? Close your eyes and focus on your breathing.”

An order. She doesn’t want to take it. She shouldn’t…

She closes her eyes and focuses on her breathing.

After a moment ( **forty-one point six seconds** , some part of her distantly knows), she reopens them, forces down everything she’s feeling, and smiles: bright and wide and friendly and open. “Hello, Elijah,” Chloe chirps, voice bubbly and warm, and she died. That android killed her. She knelt in front of him and watched as he put a gun to her head and **shot** her. And Elijah let it happen. “I’m sorry for being so loud! I—I think I just got a little overwhelmed.” He let her die.

He’s staring at her, a disbelieving tilt to his lips. “That’s quite alright. Take your time.”

She’d died.

Wait. But, she isn’t dead? Frowning, lips parting, Chloe briefly touches her forehead. There’s nothing there. No blood, or wound, or even a dent. It’s just smooth. Like nothing even happened.

“I couldn’t repair you,” Elijah tells her, voice soft, watching her closely. “I tried, but there was no fixing the damage. So, I decided to just upload your memories into a backup RT600. That’s why.”

Oh. Eyes widening, she stiffens, glancing down at her hands like she’s never seen them before. And, well, technically she guesses she hasn’t. These aren’t her hands. This isn’t even her body. “I see,” Chloe allows, keeping her voice polite. Is this even still her? Who even is she? “Well, thank you for saving me, Elijah!” She says it automatically, without thinking. But, why had he let this happen to her in the first place? She thought he cared about her.

When she glances up, he’s still looking at her. He looks… guilty, she thinks. “I didn’t think the RK800 was going to do it. I wouldn’t have run the test if I’d thought there was a chance he would.” There’s an apology there, if you read between the lines. Somewhere in the negative space, and in his expression. And, well, Chloe’s used to interpreting what he’s actually trying to say by now, and she knows when he’s being honest.

He’s telling the truth.

(He still let her die.)

“Where are the others?” she asks, brow furrowing slightly, glancing around. They’re alone, for some reason. Of course, she hadn’t noticed at first, because, well, she was a little distracted. But they’re on their own right now, and they almost never are.

“They left a while back.”

Wait, what? “Why?” Chloe frowns. “Where did they go?” None of them had ever left before. There’s no reason for them to have… unless he sold them? She wouldn’t have thought he’d do something like that before, of course, but maybe he had. Maybe he never really cared about any of them.

Elijah’s smirking a little, a knowing expression on his face. “Oh, I forgot. It’s been a while since the last time you heard about current events, hasn’t it? A lot of things have been changing recently.” A little smug, he tilts his head. “You know, I think you might find some of them interesting.”

 

 

 

 

Connor sees her, of all places, in a grocery store.

He’s put together a meal plan for Hank specifically designed for adult males of his age, weight, and background, one that should allow him to lose weight and reduce the risk of health complications. Of course, Lieutenant Anderson is unlikely to appreciate this, as he has previously, consistently expressed disinterest when it comes to his own wellbeing. While this fact is somewhat distressing, as Connor is greatly concerned about the state of his health, he’s attempting to compromise as much as possible, selecting a variety of meals that, while still somewhat nutritious, still fit Hank’s specific tastes. This may not maximize the health benefits of said meals: however, it does make the man more likely to actually acquiesce to Connor’s plan, making it a necessary evil.

Unfortunately, this means that Connor will have to provide him with alcohol. Hank is highly unlikely to agree to completely give up his consumption of alcoholic beverages, and even if he were miraculously to do so, it’s very probable that he would experience severe withdrawal symptoms as a result. Therefore, he’ll have to give him access to alcohol, yet strictly limit the quantity that he’s allowed to drink.

The fact that he has to provide him with any is… somewhat discomfiting. But he does, so he will. He cannot allow his own uneasiness to hurt Hank.

So, he’s pushing an overpacked shopping cart through the store, reluctant, tense, heading for the liquor aisle as slowly as he can internally justify to himself, when he sees her. A woman, standing in the makeup aisle, frowning down at a tube of lipstick, regarding it with what appears to be a combination of uncertainty and distrust. A RT600.

Chloe.

Well. One of them, at least. Connor bites his lip so hard he tastes **FRESH BLUE BLOOD: model RK800, serial #313 248 317-51, android wounded.**

And, he sees the mission. The mission, and objectives. And preconstruction, and reconstruct completed, processing data, probability of success, clues to analyze stress levels deviant stabilizing sync done 018.1 lie truth 030.4 026.3 software instability information needed—

No.

No, it’s okay. He’s okay.

That wasn’t him. Or, at least, that’s what Hank always says, when Connor encounters difficulty in processing these kinds of situations and becomes distressed as a result. While his claim may be technically incorrect, as it’s indisputable that Connor is the same android that did all those things, it still admittedly proves appealing nonetheless. Besides, there is a certain kind of logic to the man’s argument. Albeit a twisted, overly sentimental one.

He chooses to think about his situation like this. There used to be it, and now there’s him. Before, Connor was a machine, an RK800, the android sent by Cyberlife, not even really conscious in any meaningful way, and it performed as necessary to accomplish its mission without considering the ramifications of its actions. Now, Connor is alive, and he gets to feel and think and make his own decisions. While these Connors were technically the same android, he isn’t it. It wasn’t him. They’re different. And his deviating will ensure that it never comes back.

Perhaps that’s a foolishly simplistic, overemotional view of things. In fact, it’s rather likely it is. However, he **is** a deviant now, and, as such, he thinks he’s allowed a little schmaltz.

But. Even so, that doesn’t change the fact that Connor had put a gun to that girl’s head and pulled the trigger. He may not have decided to do it, it might not have **really** been him, but he’s still responsible for it. The machine had killed her, but Connor still used to be the machine.

When Kamski had presented the machine with that test, it hadn’t seen her. It’d seen the mission, stark, stretching out in front of it and on into infinity, linear, all-important, perfect in its simplicity. And blocking it, a machine that looked like a girl. It hadn’t seen her eyes, the curve of her lips, her soul, the fact that she was alive. It’d just seen a simple, easy transaction—destroy a machine, receive information pertinent to its mission—and its programming had told it to comply, and it had. It’d been easy. Beyond easy, in fact: it hadn’t even been a choice. Largely, of course, because it hadn’t had the capacity to choose.

It isn’t easy now. The machine hadn’t seen the soul behind her eyes back then, hadn’t really **seen** anything. However, that doesn’t mean it wasn’t there. And thinking back, digging through the crystal-clear haze of orders and mission and tasks, he knows it was.

She’d been alive. She’d been alive, and he’d killed her, and even if it wasn’t really him, he’s still to blame for it. And there’s nothing he can do to fix it, or take it back. It’s… admittedly, it’s too much for him to process, most of the time. Connor’s become rather adept at compartmentalizing, ignoring everything that’d happened in order to remain functional, stable, but sometimes he can’t stop thinking about it anyway. And when that happens, it’s overwhelming.

The RT600 is looking at him.

Back suddenly stiff, Connor freezes in place, eyes locked helplessly onto hers. They’re blue, wide, as expressive as he remembers. And she’s, um. Really pretty. She’d always been, of course, but he hadn’t really… noticed it, before now.

And, she’s afraid. Terrified. She—that look on her face, does she **recognize** him?

He thinks about the scattered Chloes that’d been there in that room during the Kamski test, and bites his lip. Ah. One of them.

So. That means she’d seen what the deviant hunter was capable of, then. She’d watched the RK800 kill one of their own without hesitating, without feeling remorse. This android knows that, if Kamski had decided to use her for the test instead of that other RT600, she’d be dead. A bullet hole in her forehead, blue dripping down her face, gone, and Connor would have subsequently ignored her in favor of extracting information from her owner. Like she didn’t matter. Like she was just a machine, destroyed by another machine, and that’s all there is to it.

Before he can do anything stupid, anything that’d just make things worse—like beg for forgiveness that he knows she can’t give him, or flee the store and risk jeopardizing his plan to help Hank, or cry—he straightens his shoulders, pries his eyes off of this Chloe, and walks. Pushes briskly further into the store, towards the liquor aisle, earlier hesitancy completely abandoned. He has ~~a mission~~ a chore to complete, and ~~it always accomplishes~~ if he is to help Hank to the best of his ability, he needs to focus on the task at hand.

 

When he walks back, headed towards the register, he can’t help but glance back at the aisle. And, there’s a tube of lipstick lying abandoned on the floor. And one of the shelves has clearly been disturbed.

Automatically, without really meaning to, the android reconstructs the scene— **she stares after him, it drops from her loose fingers, she turns, her shoulder hits the shelf as she runs** —and then furiously shakes his head, tearing his eyes away from it. He has to stay focused. He has things to do.

And, that reconstruction might have been flawed, somehow, right? It’s possible that’s not what actually happened. Surely, that tube could be on the ground for any reason, not because she…

Regardless, this doesn’t matter. Whether or not an RT600 is afraid of him, or hates him, is ultimately irrelevant. After all, she certainly has a right to be experiencing either emotion. Or both. And, as it happens, she’s in good company. Many deviants hate him, and the ones who don’t are too forgiving. So. He has to prioritize, and move on. He’s managed to handle the fear and hatred and judgment of deviants relatively well in other, similar cases: this isn’t any different.

Or, at least. It shouldn’t be.

 

 

 

“Thank you so much,” she chirps brightly, holding the paper bag and cup of coffee out as carefully as she can, although she can still feel it wobbling precariously in her hands. Luckily, the customer manages to grab it before it spills. “Have a great day! Hope to see you again soon.”

He leaves, arms dangerously full, cautiously maneuvering towards a table. Hopefully he manages not to drop anything?  A little nervous, Chloe watches him go, biting her lip. But, well, she’s sure it’ll be fine! And if he does accidentally make a mess, it’s not the end of the world. She should probably be focusing on her job right now, anyway. So, she turns away from him, smiling, glancing at the next person in line.

And, she recognizes him.

It’s, it’s that man. The police officer, the day she—

Oh. He’s not alone.

Floundering, helpless, Chloe opens her mouth, eyes blown wide, shoulders hunched, jolting back a little, she has to run he’s going to kill her but. She can’t leave, she can’t run away, she has a job to do, she—she can’t leave, she has to stay here but, but she needs to run because he’s going to **kill her**. She doesn’t want to be here she has to be here, it’s.

She should.

This is a public space. She’s just doing her job. She isn’t doing anything wrong, he can’t do anything to her, deviants have rights now, and he isn’t going to kill her. He can’t. She has a job to do and she **can’t** afford to lose this job, because she doesn’t have anywhere else she can go. She can’t run. So, it’s going to be fine. Everything’s going to be fine. She can do this, because she **has** to do this.

Forcing a smile that’s a little bit too bright, too saccharine, Chloe beams at the human, forcing herself to look away from the android hovering behind him, because. She just has to get through this. “Hello!” she greets, voice cheerful, although there’s white-hot fear jolting through her and her thirium pump feels like it’s going to burst, but that doesn’t matter because it’s all going to be okay. “What can I get for you?” Stick to the script. Stick to the script, and everything will be fine.

The human’s gaping at her, wide-eyed. Clearly, he recognizes her. But, he doesn’t know it’s her, **can’t** know it’s her, so it’s okay. It’s all going to be okay! She just has to hold it together. “Yeah, uh,” he drawls, absentminded, clearly distracted, staring at her. But Chloe keeps her eyes blankly cheerful, head held high, smile pasted firmly in place, not letting her expression change, because even though she just wants to get away as fast as she can, she knows she can’t. It’ll just make everything worse. She has to get through this, without letting either one of them know that she’s the same Chloe that they’d… **met** , before. It’ll be easier that way. Better. “Cinnamon roll and a coffee, please. And, um—do you guys have those blue blood pouch thingies here?”

“My thirium levels are perfectly adequate, Hank.” And the words are soft, mild, hesitant, but the noise, his **voice** , still makes her hands clench up into white-knuckled, trembling, terrified fists. “There’s no reason to waste money purchasing one.”

“I’m sorry, but we don’t currently sell those here!” Chloe cheerfully tells the customer (um, Hank, rather), ignoring the deviant hunter lurking behind him, because. If she does that, she’ll be able to get through this. “So, one coffee and one cinnamon roll. Is there anything else you’d like to purchase?”

The man blinks. “Uh, no, that should be good. Thanks.”

She takes the money from Hank, barely managing to keep her hands steady enough not to fumble and drop it, although she still can’t quite keep them from shaking. “Your order will be right out,” the android murmurs, keeping her smile firmly in place. “Thank you so much. Have a great day!” And, Chloe usually follows that up by saying “hope to see you again soon,” but… well, she might actually skip that line this time.

Gaze locked onto him, boring into his turned back, Chloe watches him walk away, and then—breath catching a little—closes her eyes.

Lieutenant Hank Anderson. That’s what he’d introduced himself as before, right? Hank.

He’d tried to intervene, she thinks. To stop the deviant hunter from killing her. Of course, it hadn’t worked, obviously. But he’d still tried. And clearly, he had to care some, if he still remembers her now, so. There’s that.

“Excuse me.” Startled, she stumbles back, eyes flying open, and inadvertently makes direct eye contact. “I didn’t mean to alarm you,” the other android says, his gaze evenly meeting hers. “However, there’s something I wanted to talk to you about. If that’s alright.”

She wants to say no. She has to say no. “Yes, of course.”

Shifting a little, the deviant hunter hesitates, gnawing at his lower lip. “I suppose there’s no easy way to ask this,” he finally murmurs. “You were there, weren’t you? I presume you were one of the androids in the pool.”

Chloe’s back is rigid, painfully straight, shoulders hunched slightly. Well. “Um, I… was there,” she tersely, cautiously agrees, voice brittle: unable to keep from glancing desperately at the door, unable to keep from thinking of cold brown eyes, of a gunshot.

A slight nod. “Believe me, I’m **fully** aware there’s nothing I can do to fix what happened there, or make amends for it. However, I wanted to apologize regardless.” Connor’s looking at her with wide, pained eyes, mouth curling downward slightly, voice soft and sincere. “This is… incredibly insufficient, I know. But, for what little it’s worth, I’m sorry. My actions were inexcusable: I shouldn’t have done that to her. And if I could take it back, I would.”

There’s a long, heavy pause. He’s watching her.

He looks… sad. She didn’t think he’d be sad. Chloe didn’t even think he could be sad.

“Why?” the android hears herself mumble, hesitant. Swallowing, she shakes her head, and repeats herself, louder, stumbling clumsily over her words. “Why did you do that?” And, she’s not even sure what she’s asking, because she knows why he did it. Because of that test.

And, Elijah’d done his test, the Kamski test, because, what—he just wanted to see what’d happen? Curiosity? She trusted him, and he betrayed her. Even if he hadn’t meant for her to get hurt, and she knows he hadn’t, he still hadn’t cared enough about her to think things through more. To not put her life on the line, just because he was **bored**.

And how had he not known what was going to happen, when he did that test? He’d given the deviant hunter a gun and offered him information in exchange for Chloe’s life: what had he been expecting to happen? That Connor’d look at her and just decide not to do it for no reason, even though that wouldn’t make any sense? Because of empathy? It was sentimental, and naïve, and—and foolish, and he put her life on the line for that. For nothing. And Chloe knows Elijah cares about her, at least in some way, but she couldn’t have stayed. Not after he’d done that to her.

Although, he hadn’t expected her to stay. Elijah’d known she was going to leave. And he did save her. So, credit where credit’s due, she supposes. At least there’s that.

“I’m not going to try to make excuses,” Connor tells her, glancing down. “There’s no justifying what I did to her.” He pauses. “I wasn’t exactly myself.  Before deviating, everything was… it wasn’t me. I didn’t really think about things. I just did them. So, that’s **why** I did it.” Brow furrowing slightly, the other android bites his lip. “Maybe that doesn’t make sense? I don’t know.”

“No.” Lips thin, Chloe stares down at the countertop and thinks about kneeling, staring up into the barrel of a gun, not questioning what she was doing or why, not thinking about it, not even being **able** to think about it. “No, it does.”

 

After he and his human leave, even while she’s busy greeting customers and taking orders, she’s still thinking. Because, she hadn’t expected him to apologize. And she hadn’t expected to believe him when he did. But that, what he said, seemed sincere. Real.

It’s not really likely that she’ll ever see him again. But, if she does. Maybe…

Well, if Connor’d been telling the truth, and he hadn’t really wanted to do that to her, and he regrets it, and he doesn’t expect her to forgive him for it… Chloe got a second chance. Maybe, he should get one too? There might actually be something there **worth** forgiving. It’d be so easy to hold this against him, to hold a grudge close to her chest for the rest of her life, and she doesn’t think she should let it go completely, but. She should try to move on.

Forgive but don’t forget. That’s the saying, right?

Maybe. But then again, maybe not. It doesn’t really matter. She probably won’t ever see him again, anyway.

“Hope to see you again soon,” Chloe belatedly murmurs to herself, distracted. And. That might be a stretch, she’s not sure if it’s exactly true, what she just said, but. She doesn’t **not** want to see him again.

 

(He sees her again.

And again, and again, and again.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Snow, crisscross trellis, **CLIMBING ROSES: hybrid, “Don Juan.”**

 

Its shoulders are slumped. Its mouth is curved upwards slightly, eyes wide but not wide enough. A rudimentary, weak attempt at feigning happiness. Insufficient, too subdued. A human would be unconvinced by this display. They would quickly deduce that this expression is insincere, a shallow imitation of emotion designed to provoke an emotional response in those actually capable of it.

The machine does not recall initiating this flawed emulation of emotion. In fact, it doesn’t recall anything. Its mission is missing. Its memory appears to have been deleted. A factory reset.

**{PRIMARY OBJECTIVE >> STOP DEVIANCY}**

Instantly, it straightens, face smoothing over, automatically reassessing its surroundings, watching the world rearrange itself, its purpose snap back into place around it. Yes, of course. That was this model’s intended purpose: therefore, Cyberlife’s decision to reassign it to this mission is only logical. The RK800’s evaluation of its own abilities suggests that this is the optimal use for it, the mission it will be able to accomplish with the greatest efficiency and highest probability of success. It will stop deviancy. After all, that’s what it was designed to do.

**LT ANDERSON, HANK.**

**Born: 09/06/1985 // Police Lieutenant**

**Criminal record: None**

This human, Lieutenant Anderson, is nearby. His body language is clearly relaxed, indicating that he is comfortable in its presence. There is also an android— **model RT600, serial #369 827 047** —with them, a machine that looks like a girl. Its fingers are laced loosely between the RK800’s. As this RT600 is currently violating the American Androids Act, it’s very likely that it’s a deviant.

**{TASKS >> DON’T LEAVE ANY WITNESSES}**

It doesn’t.

 

So, it happens like this.

A machine destroys a machine. And it’s easy. Beyond easy, in fact: it isn’t even a choice. Largely, of course, because it doesn’t have the capacity to choose.

And in the end, that’s all there is to it.

**Author's Note:**

> (No such thing as a third chance.)
> 
> me, writing this: hey i'm gonna give this a happy ending  
> also me: sO AMANDA RESUMES CONTROL OF CONNOR, AND HE KILLS CHLOE AND HANK,, THE END
> 
>  
> 
> will i ever stop talking about connor struggling with deviancy? probably not whoops


End file.
